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THE VISIT 



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THE VISIT 



OTHER PLAYS IN ONE ACT. 
'OP O' MY THUMB. 

By Frederick Fenn and Richard Pryce. 

THE DUMB CAKE. 

By Arthur Morrison and Richard Pryce. 

A PRIVY COUNCIL. 

By Major W. P. Drury and Richard Pryce. 



THE VISIT 



A PLAY IN ONE ACT 



By 
RICHARD PRYCE 

u 
Adapted from ''FREDDY'S SHIP,' a Story 
by MARY E. MANN 



Copyright 1910 by Samuel French, Ltd. 



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Publisher 

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CCI.D 209'^ 6 






CHARACTERS 

Col. Macmichel. 

Mrs. Macmichel. 

The Rev. Henry Benson. 

Mrs. Benson. 

Maid at the Rectory. 

Time : The Present. 

Produced Wednesday, December i, 1909, at the Playhouse 
by Mr. Cyril Maude, with the following cast : — 

Mrs. Macmichel Miss Henrietta Watson. 

Mrs. Benson Miss Marie Linden. 

The Rev. Henry Benson . . . Mr. Daniel McCarthy. 

Col. Macmichel Mr. E. Mainwaring. 

Maid Miss Marie Shields. 



o 



a o 




Door 



Chair 



Table 



Piano 



Chair 

n 



THE VISIT 

Scene. — The drawing-room in a country rectory. 
The room, furnished with ugly Victorian furniture, 
is rather shabby, yet, for something of homeliness and 
a suggestion of contentment, is not unpleasing. 
There is the conventional white and gold " drawing- 
room " wallpaper of thirty years ago, and the ap- 
pointments generally are those of the seventies and 
early eighties. There is a round table (l.c). For 
pictures there are portraits of the late Queen and the 
Prince Consort; Frith' s ''Derby Day'' and Bore's 
" Christ leaving the Prcetorium." There are photo- 
graphs in frames, candlesticks with glass drops, a 
work-box. There is a rosewood cottage piano with 
yellow keys, and " Hymns, Ancient and Modern," 
open upon the music rest ; upon the top a clergyman' s 
felt hat. On the other side of the room, balancing 
the piano, is a " chiffonier " with a looking-glass 
back and a marble top. Though it is September and 
the French windows are open to the garden, there is a 
fire in the grate (l.). A Chippendale clock st.inds 
out from amongst the rather rubbishy ornaments on 
the mantelpiece. A half -written letter lies on a 
writing-table, conveying an impression somehow of 
interruption. 

As the Curtain rises Maid enters, r. 

Maid (announcing). Colonel and Mrs. Macmichel. 

Enter Col. and Mrs. Macmichel (r.). 

Maid. Oh, I thought Mrs. Benson Was here. I'll 
tell Mrs. Benson, 'm. [Exit. 



8 THE VISIT. 

The pair advance a little into the roon. and raise their 
eyebrows at each other. Macmichel is a man of 
about forty or so. He looks a typical country gentle- 
man and has a rather sporting air. Mrs. Mac- 
michel is a handsome, fashionable-looking woman. 
She is dressed for walking rather than visiting. Her 
short, workman-like skirt and belted coat have that 
simplicity, however, which tells of good [and expen- 
sive) dressmaking. She has the air just now of being 
a little put out, but is not, nor could ever be, ill- 
humoured. 

Mrs. Macmichel. There. 

Macmichel (sententiously) . H'm. 

Mrs. Macmichel. I told you they'd be at home. 
People you don't want to see always are. 

Macmichel. You'd have had to return the visit 
some time. Now you'll have got it over. 

Mrs. Mac. (r. of table). Yes, but it's quite spoilt 
our walk. What did they want to call upon me at 
all for ? We've nothing in common. The man's a 
worse stick in the drawing-room than the pulpit — if 
possible ! — and she's only got one subject — a son at 
sea, or going to sea, or been at sea, or something. 
What is it to me ? If he was drowned fifty fathoms 
deep, do I care ? We didn't take the Court to be 
bothered with visitors. 

Mac. (l.). The clergyman's wife has to call. I 
don't suppose she enjoys the trouble any more than 
you do. 

Mrs. Mac. Oh, people like that do enjoy trouble. 
That's why they marry clergymen. (She looks 
about her.) Well, why doesn't the woman come ? 
If you've to be at the keeper's at four 

Mac. You probably frightened her the other day. 
She's tidying herself up. 

Mrs. Mac. As if I should see what she had on. 

Mac. As if you wouldn't — to the elastic sides of 
her blameless boots. 



THE VISIT. 9 

Mrs. Mac. Oh, she's not a bad httle woman, but 

if she keeps me waiting (She sees hat on piano, 

L.) His, I suppose. He probably scuttled too. 
(She looks round.) That's called a chiffonier, I be- 
lieve. 

Mac. I admit that it deserves to be. But after 
all 

Mrs. Mac. And Geoffrey — what would you take 
to live with this paper ? 

Mac. (shortly, crossing r.). Poison! (He look > at 
his watch.) 

Mrs. Mac. You see ! you're as bad as I am. 
Such a day, too. Look at the sun ! And to find her 
at home when I want to be out myself. It is rather 
provoking. I wonder what possessed me just now 
to listen to you ? 

Mac. Expediency. The chance of passing their 
door. 

Mrs. Mac. I believe you came this way on purpose. 

(Macmichel grins.) 

Mrs. Mac. You did then. Geoffrey ! 

Mac. (looking at his watch again). I own I expected 
them to be out. 

Mrs. Mac. If they had been I shouldn't have had 
cards with me. They're just the sort of people to 
stand out for what they probably call etiquette. 

(Macmichel feels in his pocket and gravely produces 
his wife's card-case.) 

Mrs. Mac. Really, Geoffrey ! Then even when 
you asked me to come for a walk 

Mac. You'll be grateful to me afterwards. 

Mrs. Mac. I've a good mind to leave you to pay 
the visit yourself. 

Mac. (putting away his watch). You can't do that, 
for I've got to leave you. 



10 THE VISIT. 

Mrs. Mac. Do you mean to say 

Mac. It's later than I thought. I shall miss Job- 
son if I wait. Look here, dear. The walk wasn't 
an excuse. I have to be at the keeper's at 4, but I 
thought we could get these tiresome cards shot here 
on the way, or at the worst look in for a few minutes. 
I couldn't meet that poor little man's eye another 
Sunday in church and know that his wife's pathetic 
little call hadn't been returned. (R. of table.) Now, 
just put a good face on the matter, like the good thing 
you are, pay the poor soul a nice visit and come and 
meet me. It's such a little thing to do for them — 
like Naaman and the washing in Jordan. You know 
if any big thing was asked of you, you'd do it. 

Mrs. Mac. (moving towards fireplace, l.). I 
shouldn't. 

Mac. Yes, you would. 

Mrs. Mac. I wouldn't. I'm not that sort, 
Geoffrey. There are plenty of women to be helpful 
and bear burdens. I don't do disagreeable things. 

Mac. You needn't stay more than a few minutes. 
Make my excuses, ask them to dinner and cut. 

Mrs. Mac. Nothing on earth shall induce me to 
ask them to dinner. 

Mac. You'll think better of that. 

Mrs. Mac. No. I'm very angry. I'll pay the 
wretched visit now I'm here. But I shall not ask 
them to dinner. 

Mac. Well, we can talk of that when you come to 
meet me. 

Mrs. Mac. I'm not coming. 

Mac. Oh yes, you are. I shall slip off this way. 
{He goes towards the window.) No, by Jove. Here's 
His Reverence. I must go by the hall door and trust 
to my luck not to encounter Her's. 

{He hloivs his wife a kiss and disappears through the 
door (r.). as Mr. Benson comes in from the garden. 
Mr. Benson is a middle-aged man, looking older 



THE VISIT. 11 

probably than his years. He seems dazed. He does 
not at any rate ap'pear to see Mrs. Macmichel, but 
hurries over for his hat, which lies on the piano. He 
starts as, turning again to the window, he becomes 
aware of her presence.) 

Mr. Benson. Oh, I didn't know there was any 
one here. I can't stop. Oh, it's Mrs. Macmichel. 

Mrs. Mac. (r., moving up). Yes. How 'do you 
do? 

Mr. Benson. Oh (He looks at her strangely.) 

Mrs. Mac. (raising her eyebrows). Yes ? 

Mr. Benson. You could help me. You're return- 
ing my wife's visit, aren't you ? 

Mrs. Mac. Yes. (As she sees his face.) I'm 
afraid you're ill. 

Mr. Ben. (almost impatiently). It's not that. I'm 
all right. It's worse — it's my son. 

Mrs. Mac. The sailor ? 

Mr. Ben. (looks at a newspaper which he holds). 
The Doughty has gone down. All lost. 

Mrs. Mac. Your son was in that ship. 

(He presses his lips together, unable to speak.) 



Mrs. Mac. Ah, I'm so sorry. I won't stop 

Mr. Ben. But you must. That's what I want 
of you. I'm going into the village to wire for con- 
firmation. Till I get back you must stop with my 
wife. 

Mrs. Mac. But, Mr. Benson, I — I can't stop. 
You must let me telegraph and you yourself must 
stay with Mrs. Benson. 

Mr. Ben. No. I couldn't keep it from her. 
She'd know as soon as she saw my face. (He pauses, 
biting his lips.) Our only one. When I know — 
when there's no hope — I must tell her. If it's true 
I could wish she might die before — that we both 
might. 



12 THE VISIT. 

Mrs. Mac. (looking round rather helplessly). If there 
was anything else I could do — ^anything. But this. 
I'm — I'm not the right sort of woman. I mean I've 
never — I'm — I'm so useless. 

Mr. Ben. {sternly). You must stay. 

Mrs. Mac. Mr. Benson ! 

Mr. Ben. It's a service I ask of our common 
humanity. You must let no one else come near her. 

Mrs. Mac. No one else — I don't understand. 

Mr. Ben. (tremUing). It's in the paper. Every one 
who hears it will come up at once. You've got to 
keep them away. 

Mrs. Mac. I ? 

Mr. Ben. Not let her stir out. Not let her see 
any one till I come back. 

Mrs. Mac. (hesitating). But it will be so awkward 
— for her, I mean. You see, I hardly know her. 

Mr. Ben. Oh, what do these things matter ? 

She's not strong. If she were told suddenly 

(Fiercely.) It's life and death, woman. 

Mrs. Mac (surprised). Mr. Benson ! 

Mr. Ben. I beg your pardon. I forget myself. 
I hardly know what I'm saying. 

(There is a pause.) 

Mrs. Mac. How soon will you be back ? 

Mr. Ben. An hour. Two hours. 

Mrs. Mac. (aghast). Two hours. 

Mr. Ben. I must wire to Portsmouth and wait a 
reply. (As he moves towards door, R., there is a sound 
outside.) I hear her coming. I can't stop to talk 
to you. (He moves quickly towards the French win- 
dows, c. There he turns to her as she follows him — 
turns, indeed, almost upon her.) I count upon you. 
I charge you. Mrs. Macmichel, I count upon you. 

(Exit.) 

(Mrs. Macmichel looks round helplessly. Hir eye 



THE VISIT. 13 

falls upon the paper which he has left behind him. 
She makes an effort to secure it with a view to hiding 
it when the door, r., opens, andMRS. Benson conies in. 
Mrs. Benson is a delicate-looking woman, rather 
dumpy, hut not without dignity. She has greyish 
hair, plain features, hut singularly expressive eyes.) 

Mrs. Ben. How good of you to come. How do 
you do ? I was, er — well, to tell you the truth, I'd 
been gardening after lunch, and then writing letters, 
and I wasn't very tidy. Now, would you rather sit 
near the fire or the open window ? It's the kind of 
day, isn't it, when either is agreeable. 

Mrs. Mac. Anywhere — either. Both, I mean 
{crossing to chair near fire, L.). This will do nicely. 

Mrs. Ben. I was just writing to my son. I think 
I told you he is in the Navy. He is commanding the 
new destroyer — the Doughty. 

Mrs. Mac. [nervously). Yes ? 

Mrs. Ben. Going trips in her every day or so. 
And since the manoeuvres — well, you can guess how 
excited his father and I have been (sits L., below fir 3). 

Mrs. Mac. Yes. 

Mrs. Ben. I suppose these destroyers are terri- 
ble-looking things. I've never seen one. But it's a 
comfort to know they're after all so safe as Freddy 
tells us they are. I'm afraid you feel the win- 
dow ? 

Mrs. Mac. No. Who could to-day ? Nor the 
fire either. I mean, it's so mild. And — and such a 
pretty stretch of road from the Court here. 

Mrs. Ben. We often say so. 

Mrs. Mac. And just the right length for a walk. 

Mrs. Ben. Exactly a mile and a quarter. 

Mrs. Mac. Really. 

Mrs. Ben. Exactly. Freddy measured it with 
his new cyclometer. He likes to be accurate. When 
he comes back 

Mrs. Mac. (starting up). Mrs. Benson, I think I 



14 THE VISIT. 

must be moving. I can't stand it any longer. I've 
misjudged my strength, I mean 

Mrs. Ben. (adrift). The fire ? Ah, I was afraid 
you might find it too much after your walk. 

Mrs. Mac. (subsiding). Yes, that's it — the fire ■ 

Mrs. Ben. Move into this chair. Now isn't that 
better ? 

Mrs. Mac. (sitting l. of table). Much better. 

(She has moved from the fire, and now, pulling off her 
loose glove and shivering a little, she holds out one 
hand, on which are many rings, to the flame.) 

Mrs. Ben. (who has taken another chair, the other 
side, R., of table, looks at her curiously). But ■ 

Mrs. Mac. Only my hands. (Laughs nervously.) 
A warm heart, you know. 

Mrs. Ben. I'm sure you have that. 

Mrs, Mac. Yes. You — you were talking of 
distances just now. How far is it to the village from 
here ? 

Mrs. Ben. Oh, not more than a mile. 

Mrs. Mac. Then it wouldn't take so very long to 
get there and back. To send a telegram, I mean. 

Mrs. Ben. Oh, a telegram. Ah, that would have 
to be sent from the station — a mile further. 

Mrs. Mac. Oh ! 

Mrs. Ben. Do you want to send one ? 

Mrs. Mac. Oh no. I was only wondering Did 

I teU you my husband was so sorry he could not stop ? 

Mrs. Ben. Oh, Colonel Macmichel wanted to 
send one ? 

Mrs. Mac. No. Ye-es. (More firmly.) Yes. 
He did come in with me, but he had an appointment 
at four. (Absently.) Two miles each way — that 
wouldn't take so very long, would it ? 

Mrs. Ben. Not if he walked fast. 

Mrs. Mac. Oh, I'm sure he'd — he'd walk fast. 
But there 'd be the waiting for an answer and perhaps 



THE VISIT. 15 

the line wouldn't be clear. Oh dear ! Is there much 
telegraphing about here ? 

Mrs. Ben. Very little. That's why there isn't a 
telegraph office in the village. My husband did try 
for one. Perhaps now that you've taken the Court 
we might get what we want. 

Mrs. Mac. Oh, I wish you might. I mean, four 
miles takes so long, If my husband has any influence, 
I'm sure he'll use it. 

Mrs. Ben. Oh, that'll be splendid. You see, 
when old Lord Minchester was at the Court nothing 
was ever done. You don't know how excited we all 
were when we heard the place was let. 

Mrs. Mac. Really. I hope we shan't disappoint 
you. I'm afraid we're very ordinary people. It was 
— so kind of you to call. It was giving us a welcome, 
as it were. My husband said so. 

Mrs. Ben. I'm so glad you say that, for, do you 
know. I was just the least little bit afraid that perhaps 
I ought to have waited. Oh, no— [as Mrs. Macmichel 
makes a deprecating movement) I know how busy a 

hostess with a full house and so on 

Mrs. Mac. I've been meaning to come every day. 
Geoffrey wanted me to. 

Mrs. Ben. No, no, no. I didn't mean that. I 
didn't dream you could come sooner. It's only you're 
(she smiles) fashionable London people, and it might 

have seemed a bore to you to have visitors 

Mrs. Mac. Oh, please, please (She breaks off.) 

I — believe you're in earnest. 
Mrs. Ben. Of course I am. 
Mrs. Mac. (looks a little taken aback. She is plainly 
unused to such directness). Oh, we're not a bit smart. 
Smart ! Geoffrey and I ! We shall always be only too 
glad to see you. Yes, I suppose we do have a good 
many people to stay with us. I always see, though, 
that some of us come to church on Sundays. 

Mrs. Ben. You don't know how you've brightened 
up the big pew. I was telhng Freddy in my letter 



16 THE VISIT. 

Mrs. Mac. I'm afraid some of us don't behave 
very well. It's the squareness of the pew, you know, 
and facing each other and catching each other's eyes. 
But— but 

Mrs. Ben. Yes ? 

Mrs. Mac. I forget what I was going to say. (She 
looks about nervously, and then hopelessly at the clock.) 

Mrs. Ben. I see you're admiring my clock. 

Mrs. Mac. No. Yes. I was only wondering 
whether it was — was going. 

Mrs. Ben. Going ? 

Mrs. Mac. I thought it might have stopped. It 
— it is a very pretty clock. It's Chippendale, isn't 
it? 

Mrs. Ben. I'm so glad you like it. It's Freddy's. 
It goes most wonderfully. We set the church clock 
by it. 

Mrs. Mac. Yes, I see it's going. I — I thought it 
might be later. It's a very pretty clock. 

Mrs. Ben. Freddy said it was too good to be any- 
where but in his own home and sent it to me. Isn't 
it delightful when young men are attached to their 
homes ? 

Mrs. Mac. (vaguely). Home's a delightful place. 

Mrs. Ben. I never go from mine ; my health 
doesn't allow me, so perhaps I can hardly judge. 

(She looks from Mrs. Macmichel to the furniture, almost 
as if she sees it for the first time.) 

Mrs. Ben. It's a mercy he doesn't see the old 
fashion — the shabbiness. He only sees — home. 

Mrs. Mac. (quickly). I'm sure he loves — (she breaks 
off, remembering). I mean, one gets so attached to 
furniture, doesn't one ? I collect Louis Quinze 
things. I must show you some time. I've got some 

rather nice (She starts a little as the door, R., opens 

to admit Maid with tea. Relieved.) Oh, tea. 

Mrs. Ben. The Court is full of beautiful things. — 



THE \aSTT. 17 

Put the table here, Ellen— beautiful things. (To 
Maid.) Yes, what is it ? , ^r t^ 

Maid (r. of her). If you please, 'm, Mrs. Pyman 
have called and wish to speak to you. 

Mrs Ben. Ask her to wait. (She glances at Mrs. 
Macmichel as if to deprecate the anticipated polite 
protest, but Mrs. Macmichel does not speak.) Anne 
Pyman will like to sit in the kitchen for a while. 

Maid. Very good, 'm. (Exit, R-) 

Mrs Ben This good woman is the biggest gossip 
in the village. I think, after all, if you'll excuse me 
for one minute 

Mrs. Mac. (mechanically). Of course. 

(Mrs. Benson rises.) 

Mrs. Mac. (starts to her feet). Oh ! 

Mrs. Ben. (r.). Eh ? 

Mrs Mac. I think, if we could have tea 

Mrs. Ben. Certainly. Of course. I daresay 
after your walk. 

Mrs Mac. If you don't mind. (They resume their 
seats.) Yes— I'm— I'm not allowed to drink it if it 
stands. Foolish, isn't it ? 

Mrs Ben. No. Very wise if you have nerves. 

Mrs. Mac. Yes. nerves. I think perhaps I drink 

too much tea. ^ ■ ^ ^ t 

Mrs Ben. I hear men drink tea now instead ot 
whisky— even at the London clubs. Freddy tells 
me—— You're not eating anything, Mrs. Mac- 
michel. ^, , ^t. .1- , 
Mrs. Mac. Oh, yes, I am. I'm only thirsty 
It's the heat, I think. What were we talking ot. 
Mrs Ben. Freddy's clock. I must remember to 
tell him you admired it. He's coming home on 

Monday. x t-. >+ r» 'f 

Mrs. Mac. (putting down her cup). Don t. uon i. 

I can't bear it. 
Mrs. Ben. What? 



18 THE VISIT. 

Mrs. Mac. (gets up quickly and goes to the clock, L. 
She recovers herself and pretends to examine it.) You 
see, it mightn't be Chippendale, and then my repu- 
tation as an expert would be gone for ever. I often 
make mistakes. 

Mrs. Ben. Oh, Freddy isn't an expert. He just 
saw it in a shop. He'd have been as easily taken in 
as any one. Dear Freddy ! You have a son, too, I 
believe ? 

Mrs. Mac. [nods). He's six. His name's Connell. 
He's an only child, too. (Her eyes fill with tears.) 
Isn't it strange that we should both be mothers of 
only sons ? Oh, not strange, really, I know, but it 
should help one to understand if— if ever — it would be 

a bond of sympathy, I mean. Oh (She turns 

as the door, R., opens again and Maid comes in.) 

Mrs. Ben. What is it, Ellen ? 

Maid. Mrs. Pyman is afraid she can't wait any 
longer, 'm. She wouldn't keep you more than a 
minute, she says. 

Mrs. Mac. Don't — don't go. 

(Mrs. Benson turns towards her.) 

Mrs. Mac. We're so comfortable here. You'll 
think me extraordinary. I suppose I am. 

Mrs. Ben. Tell Anne Pyman I'm sorry. 

Maid (persisting). It's something about the paper, 
'm. She won't tell us what. 

Mrs. Ben. The paper. I thought it hadn't come. 
Oh — there it is. 

(Mrs. Macmichel, crossing R.c, picks up the paper.) 

Mrs. Ben. (holding out her hand for it). I confess 
I'm a little curious. 

Mrs. Mac. Shall I look ? 

Mrs. Ben. It might be something about the 
manoeuvres. Let me 

Mrs. Mac. No," do let me. 



THE VISIT. 19 

Mrs. Ben, {smiling). I wonder what it is. How 
amusing, isn't it ? 

Mrs. Mac. (moving down l., fumbles with the paper. 
Then suddenly). Oh. 

Mrs. Ben. Have you found it ? 

Mrs. Mac. [controlling her voice with difficulty). 
I didn't notice. (Looking up.) It won't be here. 
This is yesterday's paper. 

Mrs. Ben. (disappointed). Yesterday's ? May I 
look? 

Mrs. Mac. (not moving, firmly). Thursday, Septem- 
ber 26. This is Friday. 

Mrs. Ben. (still holding out her hand). But how 
should that still be here ? 

Mrs. Mac. I can't say. This is Friday, the 27th, 
isn't it ? 

Mrs. Ben. To be sure. 

Mrs. Mac. (as one who closes a subject). Very well. 

Mrs. Ben. (doubtfully). I suppose to-day's hasn't 
come then. Unless your master — — 

Maid. He's out, 'm. Mrs. Pyman passed him 
going towards the village. She got a hft in the 
carrier's cart, 'm. She said he was hurrying. 

Mrs. Ben. Ah. He was going for it probably. 

Maid. Am I to tell Mrs. Pyman ? — She wouldn't 
keep you a minute, 'm. 

Mrs. Mac. (as she sees Mrs. Benson hesitate). 
Wouldn't it look rather . . . ? if the woman is a 
talker 

Mrs. Ben. You're quite right. (To Maid) Tell 
Anne Pyman I'm busy. (Exit Maid, r., reluctantly. 
Mrs. Benson returns to her chair, r. of table.) The 
paper's often late here. I — I must say I wonder 
what it is. 

Mrs. Mac. (sitting l. of table). But it wouldn't 
have done to encourage the gossip, and we were so 
interested in what we were saying. What were we 
saying ? Oh yes, about the bond of sympathy, you 
know, and all that. (She looks at the clock.) Oh 



20 THE VISIT. 

Mrs. Ben. What ? 

Mrs. Mac. It has stopped, hasn't it ? 

Mrs. Ben. Surely not. (She rises.) 

Mrs. Mac. It was a quarter-past when I looked 
before. It must be more than five minutes. 

Mrs. Ben. (crossing l.). It never stops. (They 
listen.) It has stopped. 

Mrs. Mac. It may be later then. 

Mrs. Ben. (absently). Eh ? 

Mrs. Mac. I wonder how long it is since (She 

breaks off.) 

Mrs. Ben. (uneasily). I've never known it to stop 
before. I don't like clocks stopping. It's like some- 
thing ceasing to breathe — a heart-stopping beating. 
. . . What's that ? 

(There is a sudden sharp ring. They look at each other.) 

Mrs. Ben. (who can see through the French windows 
to the hall door from where she stands). Oh, dear me. 
It's the telegraph boy. I wish he hadn't come now. 
(She looks at the silent clock.) I never see him without 
the dreadful fear that something may be amiss. 

Mrs. Mac. (catches her breath). A telegram ? 

Mrs. Ben. Yes, isn't it old-fashioned of me ? If 
you will excuse me for half a minute 

Mrs. Mac. (starting to her feet). Let me. You 
might catch cold. 

Mrs. Ben. (at the door, r.). No, no. 

Mrs. Mac. (going up c). You must let me. I 
believe it's for me. I — I spoke of a telegram, didn't 
I ? (She hurries to the windoiv and calls.) Here, 
boy, here. (Impatiently.) Yes, all right. (Under 
her breath to him.) I'll give it to her. Oh . . . yes, 
it is for me. 

Mrs. Ben. (looking at her). How strange — how 
very strange that it should have been sent on here. 

Mrs. Mac. It's the answer I spoke of. I did speak 
of an answer, didn't I ? hours ago — when I first came. 
I took the liberty of having it sent here. 



THE VISIT. . 21 

Mrs. Ben. (r.). I hope nothing's the matter. 
You will read your telegram, Mrs. Macmichel ? 

Mrs. Mac. (without opening it). Yes. 

Mrs. Ben. You — don't open it. 

Mrs. Mac. I know what it is. It's from my dress- 
maker. She's always bothering. 

Mrs. Ben. But are you sure, as you haven't read 
it, and I remember now that you seemed anxious. 

Mrs. Mac. Oh no — not anxious. 

Mrs. Ben. {crossing, l.). Well, you know best. 
But a telegram. It's like a newspaper. {She stoops 
to pick up the paper which has fallen.) You never 
know what it may contain. 

(Mrs. Macmichel watches her with horrified eyes as 
she folds the paper, turning it inside out.) 

Mrs. Mac. Oh, mine are mostly from tiresome 
people who've missed trains. {Remember ing.) Or 
dressmakers, of course. They give one just as much 
trouble as visitors, don't you find ? 

Mrs. Ben. I ? Oh, I haven't many visitors, and 
I go for my clothes to a little woman in the village — 
Anne Pyman's daughter, by the way. That reminds 
me. I'll just see if my husband's back yet with the 
paper. You'd like to know too, wouldn't you, about 
the little mystery, and he'd be so sorry to miss you. 

Mrs. Mac. {who has followed her down, l., her eyes 
rivetted on the paper.) No, don't ring. Don't. I'll 
stay till he comes, I promise. However long he is. 
If you'll let m.e go the very instant he comes. 

{She tries as she speaks to take the paper which Mrs. 
Benson holds.) 

Mrs. Ben. {surprised). Do you want this ? 
Mrs. Mac. To hold between me and the fire. 

{There is a moment's pause. Mrs. Macmichel can 
hardly control her fingers. Mrs. Benson is holding 



22 . THE VISIT. 

it to her when she suddenly withdraws it. She gives a 
little exclamation and looks from the paper to Mrs. 
Macmichel.) 

Mrs. Mac. What ? 

Mrs. Ben. This is to-day's paper. 

Mrs. Mac. (stupidly). Is it ? 

(Mrs. Benson looks at her.) 

Mrs. Mac. (again). Is it ? Let me see. Give it 
to me. 

Mrs. Ben. (suddenly). You know it is. I shall 
not give it to you, Mrs. Macmichel. I don't know 
what your object has been in — (Mrs. Macmichel 
almost by superior force gets the paper) — in behaving in 
this extraordinary way. Of course, if you take it 
from me like that I can't prevent you, though I 
should have thought that in my own house, and I'm 
not very strong, I might have been spared violence. 
(Trembling.) How dare you ? How dare you ? 

Mrs. Mac. (turning r.). I have a reason. (She 
laughs a little hysterically.) I can't explain. 

Mrs. Ben. I see what it is : you've been mocking 
me — insulting me, and I didn't perceive it. You did 
resent my calling so soon — what do you want with 
visitors ? — and you took this way of flouting me. . .of 
visiting my visit upon me. You arranged this, per- 
haps, with some of your friends to have a laugh at us. 
Well, you can tell them that you succeeded, even to 
deciding for me that I wasn't to see any one else — I 
wondered why you kept me from Anne Pyman. I 
congratulate you, Mrs. Macmichel, I daresay I've 
been ridiculous. I talked of Freddy, I know 

Mrs. Mac. Ah, please, please. If you did know ! 

Mrs. Ben. I don't suppose I wanted much draw- 
ing out. I'm not suspicious, and I know I think my 
boy's a swan — but oh, it was cruel, cruel ! 

Mrs. Mac. (faintly). You don't understand, and I 
can't tell you. 



THE VISIT. 23 

Mrs. Ben. I think I do. I've had my eyes pretty 
summarily opened. Here's my husband. Oh, here's 
my husband. He shall judge. I've had a newspaper 
snatched from me in my own drawing-room. I've 
had a telegram which I believe was meant for me kept 
from me. (Mr. Benson enters from the garden.) 
Oh, Henry ! Henry ! 

Mr. Benson. The telegram. They told me at 
the office it had been sent on. 

Mrs. Ben. It was for us. I said so. 

Mrs. Mac. (going to him, r.). Take it and let me 
go. I kept it from her. Take it and the horrible 
paper. I've got through it, but oh, my God ! I can't 
stop another moment. (To Mrs. Benson breath- 
lessly.) I don't mind what you've said, Mrs. Benson, 
because you didn't know. But oh, will you please 

remember (Enter Macmichel, who has followed 

Mr. Benson.) Geoffrey ! Geoffrey. I'm nearly 
dead with sorrow — nearly dead. 

Benson (to Macmichel). Read it. I can't. I 
can't see. 

Mac. (opens telegram and reads). " Not on board 
the Doughty. Tell mother all right." 

Mrs. Mac. (with a cry). He's safe. 

Benson. Freddy's safe. Freddy's safe, mother. 

(Mrs. Benson looks from one to another.) 

Mrs. Ben. Freddy safe ? I don't understand. 

Benson (crossing l.). The Doughty' s gone down, 
but he wasn't on board. I saw it in the paper. She 
kept it from you. Oh, I'll explain by degrees ; only 
realize that Freddy's safe. 

Mrs. Ben. (to Mrs. Macmichel). You knew and 
kept it from me ? 

Mrs. Mac. (sobbing). He's safe, he's safe. What 
does it matter ? 

Mrs. Ben. Oh, Mrs. Macmichel, and I've been 
abusing you. 

Mrs. Mac. I don't mind. Geoffrey, Geoffrey. 



24 



THE VISIT. 



Mac. I met the motor and picked him up on the 
road. He told me. I can guess. By Jove, Flora, 
I'm proud of you. You've done the big thing after 
all. I said you would. 

Mrs. Ben. And I thought What can I say ? 

How can I thank you ? 

Mrs. Mac. {drying her eyes). Only by doing what I 
want. I want you to come to dinner one night, more 
than anything else in the world — and bring Freddy. 
Now. I want to kiss you, and I want to go. Oh, I 
want to go. . . . 



Curtain. 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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